Waltz of Shadows: Blue Laze Days
by Wolfzen Skiigh
Summary: A little Ratchet and Clank series about Angela Cross. Spoilers for Going Commando, ToD, and ACiT.


Waltz of Shadows

By Nathaniel Schrader

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Blue Laze Days

Date: 2002 CE

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So warm… almost too much so. The girl stirred, blinking her eyes and shifting her head about on her arms. The air was dry. Grumbling, she glanced towards a panel on the wall, displaying an arid temperature of ninety degrees. She stood, wobbling a moment from a light head. Awkwardly navigating the clutter on the floor, the girl slapped at the panel until it displayed the temperature controls. She notched it down, to about eighty. She had only turned it up so high because she was so cold, but the air became so bloody dry that she debated if it was ever worth turning the heat up so high. The waves of warmth had put her to sleep right at her desk. Turning slightly, she grimaced as the same panel began to ring, indicating a phone call. It was from HQ.

"What now?" she growled, poking a green talk button on the screen. In a split second, she was looking at one of her associates, a Lyzzak. His face was flushed a deep green, his head spikes somewhat unkempt and facial hair even more so.

"Angela! How ya doin'!" he asked cheerily. The Lombax blinked, expression stark.

"Tired. Why are you calling, Vian?" she demanded impatiently. He laughed.

"Well see, there's this guy, Fizzwidget. You know him? Yeah, we work for him. He wants a status report on the Protopet," he told with a toothy smile, sly and ornery. A slight scowl curled on Angela's lips.

"Why didn't he call himself?"

"Too busy. Meetings, all that jazz, you know."

"Tough Blarg buns then. I can't disclose that information with you," she informed. Vian was just an assistant to the head of the Bioengineering department, nothing more.

"You sort of have to. If you'll give me a second to upload-." The man was cut short as Angela stabbed the screen with her finger, ending the call. She knew the regulations, and there was nothing to be done. Fizzwidget was the only person to know any particular details about the project at its current stage, and Angela was hardly one to take orders from anyone but him. She was an important scientist and had higher priority in the corporation than most head representatives had. Fizzwidget liked to title her as "Executive Chief of Most Projects." She liked the title, but it was only in a blue moon when she actually worked with other people on scientific developments. The Protopet was just another one of her little side hobbies, and she was sure that Vian had only called so as to steal information. He did that every now and then, but only stole the information that was very wrong, or utterly useless without the other details.

Yawning, the Lombax walked into the kitchen, avoiding the debris on the floor and throwing a microwavable meal into the oven. About to press bake on the device, she quickly put the item into the correct appliance. She didn't function when she was tired, and that wasn't the first time she had tried to bake macaroni and cheese at three-hundred degrees. She sat on a stool, brushing aside some papers on the genetic codes for the Protopet and the host-organisms it had been based off of. Over thirty different creatures went into its creation to manifest a stable balance of genetic blueprinting and form; it had taken nearly a year of work so far, but she enjoyed it, considering the mass amount of pay she had been so bequeathed. The house and most of everything in it had been free. Taking a pen and clicking it in and out, she hesitated around a paragraph about one of the genetic donors. The Rip'kra of planet Veldin… it was a deadly little vermin that swarmed in flocks around its victim before tearing it to shreds. Fuzzy and tiny, their size was often the last mistake many early explorers made about the creature. Their numbers had been halved since the planet was made into a small colony, which had been at least a century ago. Angela had been worried about the project since she had introduced such a creature into the vast genetic pool the Protopet now had… but it made the potential outcome very stable, more so than it had been in months. In fact, she was waiting for word from her private laboratory at Megacorp HQ for the results of the latest creature. The appearance of it was hard to imagine, with such reaches in genetic solution, but it was the most stable set of code that they had uncovered thus far. Truth be told, it was more so a project of guessing and experimentation rather than actual purpose. She was just having fun with science.

The microwave dinged, attracting her attention. Take the plastic off, stir, and throw back in for a few minutes; she was no stranger to microwaveable food. She rarely cooked… in fact, as she glanced at the oven she had almost used, she wondered when exactly she had last used it. She never had guests over and could barely fathom caring less. With the appliance humming quietly, Angela looked at the dish inside the microwave, watching it turn round and round. She left breast tinged suddenly, the Lombax grimacing slightly. She pulled her shirt down a little, showing the scar on her left breast, right at the base. No fur grew there yet it was more than hard to see, traveling only a few inches down her chest. She was the only person who knew where it had come from, and she intended that on staying true.

A slight plip from the blue tiled floor called her back from her examination. Reaching up, she felt her face… Her eyes were wet. When did that happen? Breathing out, she wiped her eyes, confused. She had no reason to cry… It was probably just the stress of working so much and running into dead ends. She couldn't recall the last time she had even felt tears in her eyes, but she especially couldn't understand what had caused such spontaneous melancholy. Her reflection in the white oven's window was a baffled one, standing tall and quiet. White tank and grey sweats, nothing else… she never wore much else at home, she couldn't be bothered. The dog tags around her neck, hanging just above her breasts, glistened for a moment as she shifted her weight, looking at herself. She stared at herself in the reflection, taking a ginger hold of the tags. She never looked at the name on them… it wasn't hers, but it was the source of so much inspiration that she didn't dare remove them. She had vowed to explore science fully for the sake of the name on there, and nothing would stop her in that pursuit. Angela's expression loosened into a smile as she looked back towards the microwave.

Stopping it before it alarmed, she removed the dinner from the device and grabbed a utensil. She felt like eating downstairs tonight. Navigating across a space piled with books and devices, she entered the elevator at the center of her nice, circular home. Descending several dozen meters only took a few seconds, and the Lombax was soon stepping out of the transport, the lights automatically coming on as she sat at a desk near the center of the room. The white walls were composed of racks and hanging equipment, and there was little space to move about in, considering the many other tables and surfaces used to hold pieces of equipment or station at. At the other end of the room was a railing and stairs, leading down into the larger testing and storage area. That was where she kept her good stuff. For now, she reclined at the desk and stuck the fork into the macaroni. She always ordered the big servings for delivery; a hungry scientist was a useless scientist. Eating down here had always allowed her to focus on current projects, and it was already making her feel a bit more able. With so much raw data at her disposal, it was hard to feel under-supplied.

The dish was empty before Angela had even spent fifteen minutes just thinking; she had been hungrier than she realized, and was still able to eat quite a bit more. Pondering, she stood, looking over the glass railing towards the downstairs. Her armor project was kept down there, behind the giant glass tube on the wall. It wasn't needed, but she liked to keep it clean, away from her other piles of clutter. She tried to remember a specific detail about the suit of armor but could not; it was important… sort of. It was the sort of question that would bug her for months if she didn't have the answer to it, though had little significance to anything in particular.

She glided her hand over the curving staircase's rail, reaching the bottom floor and standing before her armor. Dark red and blue… the colors were so quaintly satisfying, defiant. It certainly looked like assassin's armor, and it couldn't serve as a better mask. Literally. Angela stepped up onto the first stair for the case and opened the glass with a panel under it, the armor moving towards her on the display it was put upon. Gingerly taking the blankly expressional mask and putting it on, a hooded cape immediately appeared around her in a shimmer of light, her chest suddenly armored. The sight through the mask was normal, but the enhanced optics made it easier to get used to the feeling. Angela looked upon her reflection in a mirror next to the armor case, noting the details about the holographic projection. It looked real enough… but she looked bizarre without the rest of the proper armor to go with it. A chest piece was too heavy to wear, and she would only end up getting a cape stuck on every single thing that she walked too close to. It also hid her ears, which had been useful a while back, while the Lombaxes were still being hunted.

But her answer was answered now, yes. The eyes glowed violet. She took a firm hold of the mask and removed it, the clothes it added disappearing in a flash. She would have to change the eye color, it didn't look right. She hadn't worn the outfit in so long… and for good reason. It was an awful reminder, and the other armor that went with it didn't fit her anymore. She had made it when she was sixteen, and had never had a reason to wear it. In fact, the armor on display was far smaller than her own size now at twenty years old. Maybe one day she would have a use for it… but she doubted it. It was mostly just an old project; she never considered any idea a useless one, and always kept her old projects within reach.

Placing the mask upon the display and closing the case, Angela saw the darkened hole around the chest of the suit. It was where her scar was, blatantly apparent. She didn't dare to fix the armor… it wasn't worth it. She didn't want to, anyway. It wasn't worth forgetting. In the light of the case, the dog tags around her neck shone, letters deeply engraved: "Ether 5 - Xaily".


End file.
